


The Road Ahead

by factorielle



Series: Brand New Endings [9]
Category: Ookiku Furikabutte
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-05-15
Updated: 2010-05-09
Packaged: 2017-10-02 23:00:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/factorielle/pseuds/factorielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having decided to fix up his life, Abe finds that it takes more than a good resolution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was so easy back then, when food was something to bond over.

"New friend?" Satou-san asks with barely contained curiosity when Abe drags Mihashi into the excessive heat of her family restaurant. He rolls his eyes as she gives Mihashi a searching look. "Well, he looks nice enough. As long as he doesn't break things..."

"Yeah, yeah," Abe dismisses, pulling Mihashi in the corner booth. Her perpetually disparaging comments about his frequentations would deserve a harsher response, but he's learned not to go against her. Satou-san treats her customers like the family she doesn't have: staying in her good graces is the price of cheap and plentiful food, a warm place to study in winter, and an atmosphere that isn't unlike what home used to be. "Curry rice, please. Quickly, we don't have much time."

"Break things?" Mihashi asks, fretfully looking around for fragile, priceless artefacts.

"Mizutani broke some plates ages ago," Abe explains, rolling his eyes. "She made him show a proof that he had personal insurance before letting him in again."

"That boy is a danger to himself and others," Satou-san interrupts, setting two cups of green tea in front of them. "It's good that you're meeting new people, Takaya-kun." She gives Mihashi a wide, motherly smile as Abe grits his teeth, considering the pros and cons of setting fire to the table to ensure that he'll never want to come back here again. It's too late, though.

"Mizutani-kun?" The real question is written in Mihashi's eyes, obvious as black marker on cotton, so Abe doesn't wait for him to ask it.

"I see Izumi every now and then," he explains. "He's still tight with Mizutani and Hamada, so..." He trails off. This minefield requires careful navigation, and he's not sure how to explain why he kept in touch with Izumi, of all people. There are too many events here that he'd rather Mihashi didn't hear about (and some that Mizutani doesn't need to know, either).

Thankfully, Mihashi doesn't ask further. "I'd like to see them," he says instead, and immediately corrects himself. "If it's not too much trouble."

Of course, looking at the sequence of events since Mihashi left Nishiura, it would look like the three of them sided with Abe against Mihashi. Which is not even remotely true. Izumi is loyal but quietly disapproving, and the other twojust got swept along for the ride. More things that Abe has no desire to explain; at least not yet.

"They'll definitely want to meet up with you," he assures, and can't help a smile at the hope that spreads on Mihashi's face. "I'll set it up. Now... how is this going to work? I can't exactly walk on the team."

"Coach says it's okay," Mihashi says with the smallest of winces. "He and Yoshida-san are busy for now, but you can meet up with them next week to discuss everything."

Abe's heart skips a beat. It's only been an hour since everything changed, but that's more than enough time to start second-guessing his decision. He's already wondered why Mihashi suddenly decided to ask him back, if it was nothing more than an impractical whim. If things are already in place for him to walk back into Mihashi's life...

He wants to ask about everything. How long Mihashi has been thinking about doing this, why he sounds like getting his coach to agree was a struggle, the extent of Tajima's involvement, who he's kept in touch with and who are the main people in his life now. But Mihashi has a train heading back to Gunma in a little over an hour, and Abe can't follow him yet. There will be time for questions later -- right now, it's more important to sit here and bask in the familiarity of Mihashi's furtive glances to his surroundings.

Satou-san is quick as usual, and brings up two plates laden with sauce that brings drool to Abe's mouth. The woman might be a pain to deal with on occasion, but she's an exceptional cook; coming from her, even something as simple as curry rice tastes like a rare luxury.

Yet they don't move, sit in front of their plate in awkward silence. After a moment Abe glances at Mihashi and finds him glancing back, obviously unsure of what to do. It takes Abe a second to get it, and he sighs softly. The time is long gone since every difficulty could be overcome by holding hands. It isn't so easy, now, and things can't go back to how they were before. Rebuilding old habits -- only the good ones -- will take time and effort.

The first step is easy enough.

"Looks delicious," he says, and Mihashi nods fervently, looking back at his plate.

"Well don't just look at it," Satou-san yells at them from behind her counter. "It will get cold!"

They glance at each other again, somewhere between amused and embarrassed. _Our little secret._ And share a quick, awkward smile before diving into their plates.

* * *

Abe comes back to his flat an hour after leaving, having acquired good food, Satou-san's preliminary approval of his 'new friend', Mihashi's new phone number and the promise of an appointment with the team manager next week.

Suddenly all the chores he's been putting off seem like a breeze. Nevertheless, all he does is open the window and grab his phone before falling on his freshly made bed. A gust of wind rushes through the alley and into his flat, making the top sheets of a paper pile flutter across the room.

A grin spreads on his face, so wide it's almost painful. It's early afternoon on a weekday, his absence from class has probably kick-started the countdown to his expulsion from university, he's laying on his bed in his small, dark, messy apartment with a million things to do, and he feels so good it's stupid.

He dials without looking: his fingers know the number better than his mind does.

"What?" Izumi sounds somewhat out of breath when he picks up, and unusually harsh.

"Is this a bad time?" Abe asks, despite knowing the answer already.

"Yes." The word is laden with meaning that he doesn't need subtitles to understand. _If you're about to commit suicide, please hold. If not, call back later. Or better yet: don't._

A real friend, Abe has learned, is someone who'll take your calls even in the middle of sex. Which doesn't mean they have to be happy about it. "I'll be quick," he promises. "I'm coming over tomorrow evening."

There's a moment of silence on the other side.

"Er, tomorrow is..." Izumi sounds a little contrite.

A little further from the speaker, Mizutani doesn't have such qualms. "What? Tomorrow? He can't come tomorrow. Hasn't he spoiled enough-"

"I know what tomorrow is," Abe interrupts. "I'll bring some chips. And tell your boyfriend his voice carries. See you."

He's about to hang up when Izumi calls his name, sounding somewhere between concerned and bewildered.

"What?"

"Understand that I'm not judging you," Izumi says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But are you on hard drugs right now? You sound almost happy."

It's so little, such an insignificant joke, and still it makes Abe laughs -- probably, at this point, anything would make him laugh, and their complete bewilderment at his behavior only adds to the mirth.

"Only dopamine," he says, knowing that they can hear his grin. "See you tomorrow."

He hangs up with the certainty that their mood is thoroughly ruined, and can't bring himself to feel the smallest shred of guilt for it.


	2. Second Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years is a long time to catch up to, and it's not just baseball.

The look on his mother's face when she sees him at the door would bring tears of shame to the eyes of any good son.

On a reasonable scale, Abe is probably hovering at the edge of 'decent, when it comes down to it'. He lets her throw herself at him, hugs her back cautiously, and reasons that it's okay for him to only ever come with a pile of dirty laundry the size of the Tokyo Tower, since she's always so happy to see him anyway.

This time though, his motive for visiting is not quite transparent, although the sports bag he's carrying _is_ full of dirty clothes.

"Will you stay for dinner?" There's so much hope in her voice that it feels like it'll break her heart if he refuses. "Dad can drive you home afterwards."

That's not the encouragement she seems to think it is. Alone in a car with Abe's father is not somewhere anyone who refuses to hear or talk about baseball wants to be. The last time it happened they almost got into a fist fight over it, and the last of the trip was spent in silence that fizzled with tension.

He moved out five weeks later.

"Sure," he says, and, once she's released him: "Where's Shun?" Putting half a brain cell into the question would have told him that his brother is still at practice, but his mother is a nice woman and her answer only carries the tiniest hint of patronization.

A few minutes later he takes a glance at his watch, before straddling the slightly rusty bike that carried him to Nishiura for three years. Pedaling as hard as he can, taking every shortcut on the way, it takes him nearly half an hour to get in view of the Tajima household.

This pathetic ride robs him off his breath and makes his legs shake, confirming that the past three years have been worse to his overall shape than he thought. Catching his breath before making his presence known would have been more dignified, but it looks like the baseball team is on break at the moment. A few boys (first-years by the look of them, but it's hard to tell: they all look so young) are walking back from the club room, heavy bags dangling from their hands. Others are chasing one another on the field to squeals of laughter, and in the shade of the dugout three girls are chattering away, polishing balls with the efficiency of habit.

By the entrance of the field, the captain watches over his flock, standing tall and serious and admirable. He's not watching his back, though; Abe drops the bike and sneaks behind him easily, to breathe a gruff "yo" in his ear.

One thing is sure: even if this team never makes Koshien, the height of Shun's vertical jump will doubtlessly become part of school legend.

"What are _you _doing here?" his baby brother -- who at some point grew almost as tall as him -- protests once he's done hyperventilating.

From all corners of the field, the team starts gathering, whispering among themselves. "I need to borrow your magazines," Abe says simply, pretending to be oblivious to the whispers of 'is that captain's brother? Abe Takaya-san, right? From the team that...'

Shun is not impressed. In fact, he's downright suspicious. "What, do you have a fire to keep going?"

Abe glares at him.

Unimpressed, Shun glares right back.

On the side, the girls are getting up, trying to come closer without being too obvious. Shun gives a brief glance that way, and stands just a little straighter, the slightest blush spreading on his cheeks.

_Tell her_, Abe thinks, and wraps an arm around his brother's shoulders. "Tell you what," he whispers conspiratorially. "Lend me your magazines and tapes, and I'll come to your next game."

"Like I care!" Shun retorts, a little too loudly, as he wriggles out of his brother's grip. He's grown stronger, these past years, and Abe feels at twinge of regret that he wasn't there to see it happen, talk him through the hard days and mock his first serious crush.

Shun is still glaring at him, but the girls are coming closer and he's losing his composure fast.

"GATHER ROUND, EVERYONE," he yells suddenly, spinning around to watch his team. They jump in the air as one man and look away guiltily, but then assemble with remarkable speed. Within thirty seconds they're standing in five perfect rows, staring straight at their captain.

He lets them simmer for a dozen seconds, as the girls settle at the side in a practiced triangle.

"You've all heard the stories," Shun says. "The first years who paved their own way to the national tournament. That guy was one of them." Abe can read the urge to gossip on their faces, but all of them keep quiet. "A team of first and second years went to Koshien five years ago, and they were wearing this uniform. This is what we have to live up to!"

They're all drinking his words, including all three girls; Abe wonders how many members of this team realize how much bullshit a captain has to make up on the spot.

"This guy will be coming to the game on Sunday, so everyone better shape up!"

The collective cry of fierce determination would have made Momokan proud.

"And for those of you" there's a weird intonation there, that makes him think Shun is referring to very specific people, "who feel like you don't need the extra training... Notice that he rode here five minutes ago and he still hasn't caught his breath. No matter how good you are, if you don't stay in shape you'll lose it all, so be careful about that."

As one man, the whole team blanches at their captain's crime of lese-majesty. Or maybe it's the sour expression Abe couldn't keep off his face if he tried. None of them say a word; the bravest dare barely breathe.

"Now back to practice!"

Abe's threat of eternal doom is covered by the resounding "HAI" that follows Shun's dismissal.

"So, you're staying for dinner?" Shun asks, barely fazed.

For the sake of the information he needs, Abe resists the urge to throttle him. "Mom will lock me in the basement if I don't."

Shun snickers, but he's already looking back at the field, surveying his team's behavior again. Abe gets the message easily. The break is over: time to get back to work.

* * *

Living them day by day, three years don't seem like too much.

Watching the contents of five boxes of magazines spilled over the floor of his old bedroom, the gap feels a lot larger.

There's a game playing on the portable TV set that he had to carry back from Shun's room. It's a practice game from a few months ago, good for nothing but providing the appropriate background noise. They're at the bottom of the third inning, and all Abe has learned so far is that the commentator, whose voice he doesn't remember ever hearing, is barely literate and can't tell a forkball from a sac bunt.

For now it's the literature that's of interest: the titles and smiles and baseball caps staring at him from their covers. Unsurprisingly, one specific player is featured a lot. Talented, assiduous in his training, gifted with a friendly personality and unable to keep his mouth shut: risen high and fast in the world of pro baseball, Tajima Yuuichirou is the darling of the press.

Abe starts reading the most recent interview with a certain amount of wariness. But it appears that either Tajima has learned to stop talking about his dick in public, or the press corps as a whole has decided that it doesn't fit his refreshing image and is censoring the lewder quotes.

He skims through the rest of the magazine and takes the previous one, having decided that the first readthrough should only serve to get a feel for the general atmosphere of a world he hasn't looked at in years.

Tournament schedules and ads for new equipment follow one another in a whirlwind of technical terms that feel sweeter, more familiar than the menu of Satou-san's restaurant. Onscreen, the innings unroll slowly, and he tunes out the commentator's grating voice to hear only the smack of the ball in the catcher's mitt and the roar of the crowd.

Then, on an issue from three months ago, his eyes catch another familiar name in a brief piece stacked under the gossip column. _In a press release earlier this week, the Hanshin Tigers annouced that Haruna Motoki, the team's former middle reliever, would be retiring from professional baseball. The revelation comes as no surprise, after..._

The article seems to have been written by an intern in dearth of copies to make or coffee to brew, but it's right on one point: this wasn't a surprise. Even Abe, from the depth of his reclusion from everything baseball, couldn't avoid the news of the accident, or the regular updates on his health -- which as far as he knows mostly consisted of _the information is still restricted, but an unnamed source suggested that_\-- until even the most devoted baseball fans lost interest. Haruna's name was on the airwaves for five months before fading out.

Abe's resentment had already burned out by then. He didn't feel gleeful or vindicated, merely annoyed at the constant mention of something he was trying to forget wherever he went. Now, as the paper slides from his fingers, it all feels like such a waste: all _this_ for _that_? And he wonders, distantly, if Haruna would say it was worth it, sacrificing years of his life to a few months of glory.

Does he know where the line is now, between following a dream and abandoning everything for the one chance in a million that everything will turn out perfect?

The phone buzzing in his back pocket jerks him out of his contemplation. Just like earlier, the screen throws him an unhelpful 'Unknown number', but this time he has a better idea who it might be. Mihashi apologized profusely as he explained that his new number was blocked from identification for safety reasons.

It's pathetic how easily Abe's heartbeat picks up and his cheeks heat at the sight of this display. Thankfully, his voice doesn't shake when he answers.

"So, how did it go?"

The bubbling feeling of anticipation falls flat. Of course, Tajima is held to a similar level of privacy.

"Shouldn't you be asking Mihashi that?"

"I want to hear it from you." It would sound casual to a distant observer. But Tajima is the definition of casual, and this isn't quite up to his standards. There's an underlying threat that Abe really can't blame him for.

In fact, he's a little grateful that Tajima is still taking good care of Mihashi, even if he wouldn't see it that way.

"I'm meeting his coach on Monday." No need to bring in the details of his minor breakdown, or how he clung to Mihashi's hand like a lifeline for ten minutes. Tajima may have earned the right to know what happened, but there are limits to how far Abe is willing to humiliate himself.

Tajima makes a contented noise that would probably have half the baseball heads in the country moaning in fanatic glee, but doesn't ask for more precision.

"So I'll be seeing you around?"

_Wherever he goes_, Abe thinks as he says "I guess."

There are other things he wants to say. Mostly questions; few of them new. These will wait, or be buried perhaps. He also wants to say _thank you_, for taking care of Mihashi all this time, and _I'll be taking it from here_; but he has no right to either. So really, the only safe things to say is "are you doing anything on Sunday?"

"I'm going to my parents' for lunch, why?"

That should be close enough. Shun would get a kick out of it, as well. "Nishiura is playing in the morning. You feel like going?"

Tajima doesn't miss a beat. "Sure! It'll be fun." A moment's pause. "I think Ren has morning practice though."

Abe sighs silently, and tells himself it's only because he doesn't know since when or how these two are on first name basis, and the uncertainty bothers him a little. He'll be seeing Mihashi on Monday, after all. One day shouldn't matter.

"That's fine." Then it's quickly over, after a brief moment made making plans, and Abe realizes he still knows all the landmarks perfectly.

"Are you taking a girl to the game?" Shun asks from the doorway, making him jump. "Because unless she's a baseball fan, even _I_ know that..."

"It's not a girl." At some point in the past years Shun obviously unlearned the art of knocking, and Abe finds himself wishing his little brother had a Tajima on his team. That would teach him to be careful when walking into someone's bedroom.

"You're taking a guy to the game," Shun says, smirking. He thinks he's being witty, too.

"Haha," Abe says dryly, glaring. "Actually, I was wondering about that manager of yours. You know, the pretty one. She's in your year, right? Do you know if she's seeing anyone?"

Shun's reaction is a classic. Narrowed eyes, stiff posture, everything a psychology textbook would reference under 'defensive'. "No," he snarls, closing the door to lean back on it.

"You don't know? As captain, you should be paying attention to these things. Helps see trouble coming." This is way too much fun. Shun hasn't even noticed that his brother has no idea which of the girls they're talking about, but his hackles are rising fast.

"I do know!" he protests, his voice shaking with offence.

It's fun, but it makes Abe wonder if _he_ was that obvious, back in high school. Izumi probably has an answer all prepared; Abe is pretty sure he doesn't want to hear it.

"So... she isn't seeing anyone, then?"

"Leave her alone."

Ah, the sweet feeling of winding his brother up. Another of those little pleasure in life Abe had let himself forget about. He picks a magazine and flips it open at random, giving all the appearances of being bored with the conversation. "Hm? Why should I?"

From the corner of his eye he see Shun's face set even harder. "I like her, alright? I like her. You can't just come and mess around with-"

"Okay."

Shun is still glaring when he looks up from an ad for sports shoes, but it's a little different. His brother is awfully young (always so much younger than Abe was at his age), but he's not stupid. He knows he's just been played. "Bastard."

"Hmmm. So, what are you planning to do about it?"

"I can't do anything. There's the competition, and the team, and..."

"You should tell her." There's an underlying _trust me on this_ that he wishes wasn't so obvious, and Shun, sneaky little bastard that he is, picks up on it easily.

"Is that why you left? Because of a girl?"

"No," Abe says, a little too fast a little too tense --and then his mother, for perhaps the first time ever, saves him.

"Dinner time!" He used to believe that her voice carried through walls; now he knows it for a fact.

Shun pushes himself off the door and even extends a hand to help Abe get up. "I was thinking, maybe, when summer's over, I could ask her friend," Shun babbles as they walk down the stairs. "To know if she'd..." He trails off, but the rest is obvious.

Abe never knew his brother was this old-fashioned. Or this much of a coward. "That's a lame way to go about it, cap-" He stops dead in the middle of the stairway and the teasing pet name. Shun bumps against him and groans.

It _is_ lame. Their mother regularly tells the story of the five separate people who were directly involved in getting her and their father on their first date, but what was true for their parents isn't necessarily applicable to them. Only...

Only didn't _he _just ask Tajima to a game?


	3. Third Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your oldest friends are generally the ones you never managed to get rid of.

"Oh," Mizutani says with barely veiled distaste. "It's you." How he managed to open the door with one arm wrapped around a huge bowl of popcorn and the other struggling to keep a hold of three beer bottles is anyone's guess.

"It's me," Abe confirms, and goes in without waiting for an invitation that isn't Mizutani's to give. Despite the initial defiance, the idiot fidgets as Abe takes off his shoes, then again when Hamada comes in from the living room, asking after his beer.

At least _he_ has the decency to show surprise instead of disgruntlement at seeing Abe here. And maybe a little curiosity. "Uh, Abe, you know that tonight is..."

"I know." All the plans he's made to set up the big reveal crash and burn as he smirks. "It was too late to get me a ticket. But if you look closely, you can probably see Mihashi in the VIP box."

The shock that paints itself on their faces gives Abe an unfamiliar kind of bubbling jubilation.

"You're smirking." Mizutani looks horrified even as he takes a step back, possibly with the intent of hiding behind Hamada.

"Am I?" Abe grins a little wider. Creeping Mizutani out is about as fun (and easy) as annoying Shun. Hamada is easily unsettled as well, although he's better at hiding it.

"Apparently. And you can drop the lame attempt at suspense. What's going on?" And then, there's the one who remains decidedly unaffected by, well. Pretty much everything that isn't his overly tall, idiotic, uncommitted boyfriend.

Abe wonders if the news he brings will change that. "Mihashi came to me," he announces without turning around.

"Eeeeeh?" Mizutani, Abe decides, will never stop looking stupid with his mouth open like that.

"Yesterday, right?" Izumi asks. Even with his back to him, Abe can picture him leaning against the door frame, staring at the nape of his neck. "That's why you sounded high on the phone." Trust him to take all the momentum out of a revelation. "And?"

"And," he turns around, and finds Izumi in exactly the position he expected, plus a pizza box in his hand. "I'm starting work on Monday."

_Then_ there's a reaction: little more than a shadow maybe, passing over Izumi's face in a split second; but definitely there. Abe only has the time to mark that down for later study before he is, for lack of a word to properly describe the accompanying high-pitched squeal and flailing limbs, _glomped_ from behind by an idiot who's obviously forgotten what a survival instinct feels like.

"Abe's back!" Mizutani claims, and releases him almost instantly before disappearing in the bathroom – maybe the aforementioned instinct kicked in after all.

Now holding the popcorn and beer, Hamada grins widely as he hands Abe a bottle. "So you're watching the game with us?"

"Got to get back on track." Abe takes a swig, and it's quite possible that beer has never tasted this good before. At least until something gets wrapped around his face from behind, making the bottle hit his teeth. "What the-" He doesn't have time to look, because something else gets slapped on his head, blocking his vision, and it's a couple of seconds before he manages to untangle himself from the sudden fabric assault, sputtering.

The first thing he sees is Izumi heading back to the kitchen; the second, Mizutani's dumb grin. The third, the number 8 etched in gold over dark blue. It makes him smile a little, and he rubs a hand against the soft wool. "You still have these?"

"What, you didn't keep yours?" Mizutani looks horrified, which Abe thinks is a gross misrepresentation of his character. He, too, remembers the hours Shinooka spent knitting at lunch break that first winter, but to be fair, she made the personalised scarves in ascending order and there her technique still had a lot of room for improvement by the time she was done with Abe's. Izumi's, on the other hand, is nice and soft. Also way too warm for a summer evening, so Abe unwraps it from his neck and flings it at Mizutani.

He keeps the Nishiura cap on, though, and sprawls on the sofa next to Hamada, to listen to the same irritating commentator babbling about Tajima's batting average, which Abe can already recite in his sleep after less than fifteen hours of catching up. He's about to comment on how annoying it is when Mizutani starts babbling out of synch with the TV, and Abe decides to retreat to the kitchen before he gets a headache.

Izumi is busy cleaning whatever dishes you can dirty for a meal of delivered pizza and wasabi peas, and makes no sign to indicate that he's aware of having company.

Abe deliberately makes the stool rattle against the ground when he pulls it closer, and still there's no response.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were jealous."

"But you do know better, so that works out." Shot down, but his tone spoke volumes.

"What do you have to say, Kousuke?" He wouldn't use his first name, usually; not for opening conflict, and not with hypocritically jealous Mizutani so close by, but the way Izumi is behaving grates on him and he wants it gone because this is supposed to be his first good evening in forever, dammit.

Something goes _clink_ in the sink, and Izumi turns to face him. "You weren't good for him then," he says, looking Abe in the eye – not really angry, but blank, almost looking through him. "What makes you think you're what he needs now?"

Anyone else, including the two guys outside, would have gotten punched in the face for that. Izumi gets a glare and an honest answer. "I don't." And what a terrible thing to admit. "But he made sure to tell me that I'm who he wants. That's good enough for me."

"If you say so." Izumi shrugs and busies himself with a bowl and a pack of peanuts. "I still think it's a mistake." That could be that, but somehow his behaviour doesn't quite click.

Back in high school, it took him the better part of forever to call Abe on being a dick to Mihashi. It's not normal for him to be so open with his opinions, even if things have changed.

"Who are you trying to convince?"

Izumi freezes where he stands. For a second, it's fight or flight: the tension in his shoulders, the fingers of his left hand white around the peanut bowl. Then there's a long exhalation, and the bowl is set back on the counter, soundlessly.

"He's leaving." He doesn't need to say, _again_.

As far as Abe knows (and he would be the one to know), they've broken up at least four times in as many years; often enough for Izumi to spot the telltale signs weeks in advance. As Mizutani always comes back with his tail between his legs, it's a little difficult to take it seriously anymore. Still, Abe can admit that that's a lot easier to say when he isn't the one about to get dumped for the first potential girlfriend that walks by – again.

So this isn't him fucking things up with Mihashi once more. This is Mizutani being an idiot, and Abe being in the right place at the right time to take part of the strain.

This is history repeating itself and Izumi being helpless to stop it.

"How long?" Not that it's really important.

Izumi shrugs. There's nothing on his face but distance, and even Abe only has an inkling of what he's repressing. "If the Lions with the game, about a week or so. Otherwise, tomorrow or the day after. It's not an exact science."

It might as well be. There's more than enough experimental data by now, yet Izumi still hasn't learned the self-respect to shut the door in Mizutani's face; Abe wonders, sometimes, if Izumi, at some level, feels safer in misery. Then again, he'd be the last person entitled to call him on it, if that were the case.

"It's starting!" Hamada calls from the living room, and when they get there, Abe can't help spotting the signs, too: Mizutani's strategic position on the couch, with just too little space between him and Hamada for someone to sit in the middle without making a show of it; the way his eyes don't divert from the TV; how he participates in the conversation but never seems to answer Izumi directly.

How Izumi takes as many beer runs as Hamada and Abe combined over the course of the game.

Three hours later, Tajima bats in the run that wins the Lions the game, to the exhilaration of the crowd both in the stadium and in the flat. Mizutani is the most vocal among them, practically bouncing on the couch. Abe himself feels too energized to try and shut him up, ready to get up and hit a home run at the world. The plan had been to stay for a while and catch up, but now he finds himself eager to go home and wrap his head in Shun's magazines once more, dive deeper into pro baseball than he ever has before.

Plus, there's at least one nice thing that he can do tonight.

"I should go," he declares fifteen minutes after the end of the game, and gives Hamada a Look and a head tilt.

The blond frowns, looks around, then jumps up from his seat. "Me too!" he claims, although a minute ago he looked ready to settle for the night. "I've got work early tomorrow, I need to sleep."

There are a couple of floating seconds, during which Abe is sure he can see Izumi about to nod at him in gratitude, and then--

"Ah, Hamada, can you drop me off, since I'm on your way?"

* * *

Being the one to start the movement, there's nothing Abe can say to delay their departure. All three of them leave less than ten minutes after he got up. Izumi waves them off, and it seems to Abe that the door closes with dramatic finality.

It's probably the beer, though.

Downstairs, Hamada pushes his helmet at Mizutani before they climb on his motorbike. Abe nods his goodbye and heads to the train station, not looking back even as the bike makes enough noise to wake up the entire neighbourhood.

It's not a short walk, but the evening is nice and he has enough things to think about, Tajima's performance and the Lions' pitcher and the strategies involved in the game, the moment in the fourth inning when it looked like the Lions were overwhelmed and would never make it. He can imagine, too, Mihashi's face at every turn of the game, and how the two of them must be celebrating together right now.

That's actually not such a good thought, come to think of it, so he cuts it short and forces his mind back to the rush of baseball as he stands on the platform.

It's twelve minutes to the next train, and he stands there for eleven of them.

When the rails start vibrating he turns around and gets off the platform at a semi-run. Even walking fast, it's a good five minutes before he gets back to the building; then a quick job of the code, a half-dozen seconds to climb the stairs, and he's ringing the doorbell.

He's about to ring again when the door finally opens, and Izumi's carefully blank expression turns slightly sour when he sees him.

"You still go running in the morning, right?" Abe asks without preliminary, and steps in.

Izumi twists to the side to let him pass; he smells of sake more than beer now, which makes Abe frown. "When I can." At least his speech isn't slurred.

"I'll go with you, tomorrow." Shoes off, he heads into the kitchen, which is already mostly clean. There's a bottle of sake on the counter that wasn't there when they left, and a single, full shotglass.

Not full for long. "You came back all this way to tell me that?" Izumi asks, already filling the glass again. "It's kind of a long walk."

This isn't good. The bottle is small and Izumi likes his sake warm so it shouldn't be too strong, but he was already drinking too much during the evening. "I'm staying here tonight. It's easier."

Silence. Abe leans against the counter, answering the inquisitive gaze steadily.

"I appreciate your efforts," Izumi says after a moment, all seriousness, "but it's a bit early for the pity sex."

Abe can't help a snort, and the inner suggestion that maybe this isn't the first bottle to be downed so quickly. "I'm not sleeping with you," he answers levelly. This he's sure of, even if Izumi wasn't well on his way to a drunken coma.

There's another moment of silence as Izumi gathers his soaked wits for the next repartee.

"See," he says, and "See. This... is why I don't like you. You spend five minutes with your true love, and now you're too good for us mere mortals."

At any other time, Abe would dispute the finer points of the statement, but Izumi is too busy topping up his glass again to listen to elaborate arguments. "That, and I'm not your personal blow-up doll."

A shrug. "Hey, when it comes to blowing, I'm..." The glass slams back down, spilling alcohol all over the pristine counter. Izumi shakes his head, frowning as if he's just figured out the workings of the universe and found them wanting. "I'm going to stop drinking now," he declares to no-one in particular.

Abe's already grabbed a sponge. "Good." Izumi moves away docilely, letting him clean up in peace. "I really don't need a list of your sexual qualifications." When he looks around again, Izumi is pouting, which really doesn't suit him.

"Are you saying. Were you disappointed in me?" Maybe 'defiant' would be a better term. Abe understands why getting his abilities in bed recognized is a sticking point for Izumi. It would be, for anyone whose sole chance to keep their boyfriend is to keep them virtually tied to the bed, but he's not the one who should be hearing this.

He's not the one who should be here at all. Seeing Izumi so blatantly Not Fine, Abe can find it in himself to despise Mizutani a little, with an option on upgrading to 'a lot' if he ends up cleaning any puke before morning.

"You've had too much to drink already. " Like that's not obvious. "And I couldn't have been disappointed." Done cleaning off the sake, Abe stands at the door to the living room, a hand hovering about the light switch.

Izumi can still take a hint, even drunk as he is, and he walks over with the careful determination of a man who isn't quite convinced that the floor isn't moving. "You weren't expecting anything."

Pretty coherent point for a guy in his state, Abe decides, and wraps an arm around his waist before he's taken the last step. "So all in all, I was pleasantly surprised." Walking him to the couch is surprisingly easy, even in the dark. "Plus, you've got a good ass. Should use it more often."

"Screw you," Izumi retorts, at the height of his wit.

"Yeah, yeah." Abe sits him down before plopping by his side; not too close, but a drunk Izumi will gravitate to the nearest warm body, in a surprisingly cuddly way. "We've had this conversation before."


End file.
